


The Wrong Turn

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Knifeplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Season/Series 11, The Demon Tablet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Always about the bloody Winchesters, isn't it?"</p>
<p>Castiel sighs. He looks at Crowley's hand on his chest. The gleaming edge of the angel blade. "Not always," he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy spoilers for Season 11, through mid-season.

Castiel is in bed. His knuckles are still chapped from that evening's confrontation with Metatron. He could heal them if he wanted. His hand aches, but the pain is a comfort. As are the etchings on the tablet he holds. 

Castiel stares at his television screen, volume low so the boys can sleep. He knows he hasn't heard the full story of the Darkness. Dean could not kill her when he was close. Why, Castiel doesn't know.

Castiel could not kill Metatron when he had the chance either. But the situations feel different. Are they? He is somewhere between angel and man, plagued by the breach between duty and morality. When he closes his eyes, he sees Metatron's bloody face under his fist. He sees Dean too. And Crowley.

His black-and-blue fingers trace the demon tablet. One illegible symbol, then the next. A rhythm for restless hands while his swollen eyes swallow the latest silly cat video. They are amusing, cats. Unpredictable bundles of pride. His shirt and pants are still on, tie unlaced on his chest.

Castiel should startle at the sudden intrusion. But all he can muster is a roll of his eyes to the corner, where the King of Hell now stands. There is a red aura around him, anger seeping through human pores. Castiel sees the scowl of his demon mouth, rage pulling his knots and sores.

"The bunker is warded," Castiel says, as if Crowley has made a mistake. He isn't supposed to be here, perhaps he took a wrong turn?

"I was summoned," Crowley mutters.

Castiel tilts his head. "The Winchesters didn't-"

Crowley interrupts him with a loud clearing of his throat. He shoots a dirty look at the demon tablet on Castiel's chest.

Castiel blinks, dawning realization. "I didn't..." he trails off, puzzled. "You can't have it, Crowley."

"I gathered that." Heat billows beneath Crowley's mortal skin. It's a wonder his vessel has not begun to crack.

"Are you going to fight me for it?" Castiel asks. He should state it as a threat, but curiosity gets the best of him.

"Another day." Crowley stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and scowls across the room. "Is that all?"

"No." Even though it should be.

Crowley raises a skeptical brow. "You look like shit."  

"You've seen better days yourself," Castiel snaps back.

Crowley flashes a bitter smile. "Yes, well. You try having your innards juiced by a teenage deity. Or getting stabbed in the back by your old partner...again. I'd say I'm holding up quite well, given the circumstances."

Crowley was still when Castiel drove the blade through his back. So still...

Castiel looks past Crowley to the kitten yawning on the TV. Absently, he traces another letter on the stone.

"Stop that," Crowley mutters. At Castiel's confusion, he nods at the demon tablet. "That. Stop."

"Why?" Castiel senses discomfort. Something beyond the anger already boiling through Crowley's veins.

"I feel it," Crowley grits.

Castiel frowns and draws over another letter. Not much to go on, but Crowley's jaw clenches. "Does it hurt?" Castiel asks. Crowley shakes his head.

Castiel's fingers comb down the face of the tablet. Across the room, Crowley straightens. Castiel raises a brow. "Does it...not hurt?"

"I feel it," Crowley repeats. His voice is tighter, more frustrated. "Is there anything else?"

The outside of the bunker is warded against demons, but Castiel's room is not. There are no sigils here to trap Crowley. No spells or hex bags. "Why do you keep asking that?" Castiel wonders.

Crowley grumbles under his breath and glares at the tablet.

Castiel looks between him and the stone in his hands. It's the demon tablet, yes, but handling the object never affected Crowley before. Its teachings could be used against demons. Not the tablet itself.

But that was before the trials. Before Crowley and the tablet became linked. Before the human blood. Before everything changed.

Castiel tilts his head. "This is a predicament."

"The Darkness is a predicament," Crowley huffs. "This is just annoying."

"You were going to kill Dean, Crowley."

Crowley nods. "Yes," he muses. "I think I would have this time."

"If you ever-"

"Tinkerbell gets his wings back, and he's already throwing his weight around." Crowley's voice is weary. "I have greater concerns at the moment. Besides, other ex-partners are in line before Squirrel." He looks at Castiel.

Castiel sighs at the insinuation. "I'm right here, Crowley."

"You are, aren't you?" Crowley's eyes comb the angel's drowsy state. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone. Everything is wrinkled and pulling loose.

"You once told me I was useless to you dead," Castiel says. "Is that still what you think?"

Crowley scoffs instead of answering and turns his distaste to the room. "For all their knowledge, the Men of Letters had no taste for interior design. The boys' sex dungeon is cozier than this."

"Join me."

Crowley's eyes narrow. He glares at Castiel, and from Castiel to the bed. The blankets have been wrinkled by Castiel's many hours of television-binging. "When was the last time you washed those sheets?" he asks.

Castiel rolls his eyes. "I don't have bed bugs, if that's what you're inferring-"

"It was not what I was inferring. But now that you've inferred it, I'm not interested." Crowley crosses his arms.

Castiel tilts his head. He taps a finger over the tablet. Crowley's foot stutters forward. His stern expression breaks into something slack, unrestrained.

The lapse is brief. Crowley freezes, glare zeroed in on the tablet  

"Join me," Castiel repeats.

Crowley mutters under his breath and peels off his jacket. He folds it over Castiel's desk chair and storms to the other side of the bed. It is tight quarters. When he sits, his shoulder bumps Castiel's. Crowley scowls at the tablet but folds his hands in his lap.

They sit in silence together, staring at the television screen. In this video, a hand scritches the outstretched belly of a kitten. When the hand pulls away, the kitten's arms flail out. A smile tugs at Castiel's lips.

"The last time we Netflix and chilled, I chose adult programming, at least."

Castiel sighs. "You fawned over the Black Plague."

"You're fawning over felines. I fail to see how that's an improvement."

Castiel scowls. But the resigned posture of his old enemy catches Castiel off-guard. The slump of his shoulders. The glum stare that sits on the television screen. Hands fidgeting in his lap.

Castiel tucks the tablet beneath his pillow. Not fool proof, of course. But it will do for now.

He tucks a leg up beneath him as he turns to look at Crowley head-on. Crowley returns his attention, displeasure evident.

"The tablet is out of reach," Castiel says. "You can go."

Crowley stares at him a moment. Then, he scoffs and returns his attention to the television.

"Why did you take the Darkness?" Castiel asks.

"I've decided against killing you tonight, Castiel," Crowley mutters. "Don't make me change my mind."

The threat rings hollow. Castiel frowns. "I know you wanted her power. But the risk was great, even before she revealed what she is-"

"You lunkheads have had God on your side for centuries. No shame going all-in on a contingency plan."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "God isn't on our side-"

"Please," Crowley snorts. "This coming from Daddy's favorite."

Castiel shrugs off the back-handed remark. He's distracted by Crowley's odd posture; the hunch of his back, the anxious twinge in his eyes. "She could have killed you-"

"Like Lucifer could have killed me? Like your pets could have killed me? Like _you_ could have killed me?" Crowley's vessel and true mouth curl in matching smiles. "No God on my side, angel. Just me. And I'm still here." Crowley wants to seem smug, he spits the words like a badge of honor. 

But Castiel's first instinct is pity. It purses his lips, and Crowley sees. His eyes darken, brown to black, a tinge of red outlining the pupils. "One day, I'll kill the Winchesters," Crowley hisses. "I'll revel in it. But that pleasure will be a fraction of what I'll feel when I kill you."

Castiel nods, an absent incline of his head as he returns  to the television. A cat sits on a zoomba, swiping at a dog as it spins past.

He doesn't flinch when an angel blade presses under his chin. It's held by a white-knuckled fist, a contrast to the red eyes blaring down at him. The scars of Crowley's face stretch with contempt. Clean, manicured skin hides the sores on his true hands.

"You won't kill me," Castiel says.

"Do you even care anymore?" This surprises Castiel. Crowley's red glare extinguishes to a tired brown.

"I do," Castiel replies. A short time ago, he may have given a different answer. "As long as the Winchesters live, I belong with them."

Crowley barks a laugh. The blade shifts downward, from Castiel's neck to his chest. The tip of the dagger sits cool on Castiel's skin. "Always about the bloody Winchesters, isn't it?"

Castiel sighs. He looks at Crowley's hand on his chest. The gleaming edge of the angel blade. "Not always," he says.

He watches the  blade draw soft patterns across his shirt. Crowley flicks it through the next button. The plastic circle hits the bed with a thump. The metal on Castiel's skin is cold. Final. Castiel tenses on instinct, his human side. 

The flat of the blade moves back up his throat. Strokes his jaw, up to his cheek. Here, a flick. Castiel hisses. His skin splits with a soft glow of grace. The skin itches to stitch back together. Castiel chooses to leave the wound open.

His eyes slant up to Crowley's as blood trickles down his cheek. The demon's gaze is warm, chestnut brown. His tongue prods the inside of his cheek. 

The blade moves to Castiel's lips, leaving a smear of the blood from his cheek. Castiel feels the stain on his mouth. He darts his tongue out to collect it.

"I _will_ kill you," Crowley tells him. "All of you."

"I regretted killing you," Castiel admits.

Crowley is caught off-guard. His answering "What?" lacks his usual finesse

"I remember the warehouse. My loss of control." Castiel frowns. "Maybe you're useful to me too."

"Maybe." Crowley punctuates the word with the blade. It drags down Castiel's torso, just hard enough to cut through his remaining buttons. Castiel's shirt falls open.

A bare hand replaces the knife. It starts at Castiel's throat and settles on his stomach. Crowley's palm flattens across his navel.

Castiel sighs. He would usually restrain his vessel's reactions to the demon's touch. But tonight, he lets himself shift, a roll of his waist as he rises into the hand. Crowley presses harder, warm and sturdy. An answering knot tightens low inside Castiel. He considers how he must look. Shirt fanned open, tie hanging loose, body arched towards the hand of a demon.

A demon who sheaths his blade for now, in favor of a snap of his fingers. Behind them, a click, and a waft of smoke from Castiel's television. No more cat videos. No more anything.

"Was that necessary?" Castiel grumbles.

"Yes. You're a mess." Crowley drags his hand back up Castiel's body. He cups his cheek, a thumb swiped across the bleeding cut. Castiel winces just enough. Crowley sees, and he approves. He bends to drag his tongue up the open wound. Castiel hisses and turns his head. Crowley follows greedily. His mouth nuzzles close to Castiel's nose, tongue stained red.

"You want to say something," Castiel mumbles. He lifts a hand to scratch the base of Crowley's scalp. 

Crowley snorts a laugh, warm breaths Castiel finds himself turning towards. "As do you."

Castiel gives in to the urge. He lifts his head, mouth for Crowley's. The demon's true face is cracking stone, but his lips are always smooth. Warm. Welcoming. Castiel wonders if this is by design.

Or, he used to wonder. Now, it's easier to let his eyes close and move as Crowley moves. A once-awkward gesture that has become far too commonplace.

"We're better than this," Castiel sighs.

"We?" Crowley's voice takes on an edge that reminds Castiel what he's drawn to him. "Don't mistake your usefulness for my need, angel. There is no 'we.'"

Castiel nods. This poison issue between them has never been about union. Just as Crowley's search for an equal has never been about companionship. He did not steal Amara to have another at his side. Or Dean, in that summer of darkness. Or Castiel, when Crowley came to him and planted the seed that ruined everything. It was just power Crowley wanted. The capacity for connection is beyond a demon. They can't care. They can't feel.

Still, Castiel slides fingers down the back of Crowley's neck and lifts his head for another kiss. His torn cheek hurts, a distraction wired hot through his face. Somehow, it amplifies Crowley's lips against his own. A chuckle purrs from demon lips. Castiel closes his eyes. Crowley reaches out.

In a blink, they're turned. Crowley on his back, nothing in the hand that stretched under Castiel's pillow. Castiel's grip tightens around his neck, eyes blazing warning.

Crowley shrugs. "Can't blame a boy for trying."

"You're not getting the tablet," Castiel grits. 

His hand eases enough to curl a fist on Crowley's throat. Knuckles fit sharp against the under-softness of Crowley's chin. It is a threatening gesture, one that falls flat. Crowley is more interested in the cut on Castiel's cheek. The wound closes itself in a glow of blue light. Crowley scowls his disapproval.

Castiel glares. "It seems I'm no longer useful."

Crowley's laugh is a harsh scratch in the back of his throat. "You're so desperate to be better than me." His beard rasps against Castiel's knuckles, still bruised from his interrogation of Metatron. "I told you once, Cas. The difference between you and me? I know what I am."

"Is that still true?" Castiel asks.

Crowley lapses a moment, a pang of deep-rooted resentment. But his smile returns, and closed eyes with it. Playing dead. Baiting Castiel.

Castiel doesn't take the lure. He slumps to the side and stretches arms beneath his pillow. His hands frame the edges of the demon tablet, stroking slow lines across incomprehensible text. Horse. Fiddler crab.

"Cas-"

"Is that still true?" Castiel repeats. "Do you know what you are?" He turns his glare on Crowley, brow lifted and waiting.

Crowley's expression tenses. "I'm not playing bloody truth or dare with-"

"Is that still true?" Castiel asks a third time. His nails dip into the etchings. Playing with Father's words.

His eyes widen at the answer he receives; it's something like a whimper, strained and weak. Crowley is as startled as he is. "No," Crowley grits, voice shaking. 

He bites his lip against any other admissions. Instead, he forces out, "Is there anything else?"

Castiel splays fingers across the tablet. He absorbs the way Crowley's eyes roll back. "Do you want to leave?" Castiel asks.

Crowley's glower is murderous, bared teeth and clenched fists. "No," he spits.

Castiel smiles. He releases the tablet in favor of rolling his shirt off his shoulders. His open tie shifts over his bare chest, the ends dangling against the waist of his slacks. Castiel props himself on his elbows, appraising the King of Hell who, by turns, appraises him. The rage in Crowley's eyes has dissipated. But the darkness remains, a shadowed look as he sucks on his bottom lip. 

Castiel frowns. Crowley isn't here to keep his mouth for himself.

He takes Crowley's tie in his hand. Winds it in his fist. Draws him closer. Crowley puts on an annoyed expression, but Castiel sees the amusement lingering beneath the surface. Crowley pulls Castiel's belt through its buckle, tugging until the leather comes free. Castiel lifts his waist, delighting in the promise of the loosened slacks. 

Crowley plucks the top button free and eases his zipper down. "Haven't those nightmares purchased you proper pajamas?"

Castiel chuckles. "Concerned about my comfort?"

"Pissed at all this work! Sweats have elastic. Easy in and out."

"Like a demon," Castiel snorts. "Easy in and out." Crowley's scowl makes him smile.

And his smile makes Crowley roll his eyes. "Shut up," he says, but there is a new levity to his voice. "Besides, you've never complained about my easy in and out."

Castiel sighs. "Don't make me kill you, Crowley. I'm not in the mood."

"Mmhm." Crowley isn't listening. He slides hands under Castiel's body. Presses him upward so he can ease his slacks down. Pants and underwear bunch at Castiel's knees. His cock jumps free, the early stirrings of want. 

Crowley moves between his legs. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Come here."

The demon flicks a tickled look at him. He drags his teeth along Castiel tattoo instead. 

The skin around the black script blushes pink. Castiel's broken wings rustle their pleasure.  Crowley sees them. His eyes burn a more dangerous, beautiful red.

"Come here," Castiel repeats.

"Or what?" Crowley's voice is liquored smugness, dribbling from his mortal mouth.

A smile plays at Castiel's lips. His hand slides beneath his pillow to lie flat on the demon tablet. A slow, coaxing stroke.

Crowley's expression is amazing, grit teeth and a sharp pant. "Damn it, Castiel-"

"Will you come if I say please?" Castiel tilts his head. He teases ancient symbols under his nails.

"Fuck- yes," Crowley forces out. His exhale shudders against Castiel's tattoo.

"Please," Castiel says. Crowley crawls up his body immediately. He tangles a hand in Castiel's hair and yanks his head up. His forceful kiss is exactly what Castiel wanted.

With a satisfied groan, Castiel releases the tablet in favor of Crowley's waist. His vessel's weight is pleasing, as is the thrum of energy Castiel feels under the skin. The tortured rage of Hell batters against Crowley's flesh. Castiel's hands slide up his back shirt beneath his fingers. 

Castiel sighs, and Crowley's clothes are gone. Crowley hisses, indignant. He yanks Castiel's hair hard enough that Castiel feels the pain. Castiel grunts, mouth popping open in voiceless approval.

Crowley's fist finally eases. He strokes Castiel's hair into a muss of finger-lines. Castiel's face is fever-warm when Crowley touches the cheek sewn back together by his grace. "I have better things to do than make out with you," Crowley grumbles.

Castiel nods. "Yes. But I feel your erection. We should take care of it."

Crowley scoffs his surprise, breaking on a grunt when Castiel's leg slides between his. The hands on Crowley's back ease downward. They trace the swell of Crowley's ass. Down between his cheeks, a press against his-

" _You're_ the bottom in this relationship, remember." Crowley shoves Castiel back. His mouth curls in an affronted scowl.

Another happy rustle of hidden wings. Crowley's anger quells to a raised brow. "Really?"

Castiel shoots him an annoyed look, discredited by the hands between Crowley's thighs. He urges Crowley's legs to straddle his waist. Crowley's weight falls heavier on him. Castiel's arousal grows more evident, hot and stiff on Crowley's stomach.

Crowley grins. "You sure you've just been watching pet videos, love? Nothing naughtier in your collection?"

"I watched a lot of Jenny Jones," Castiel offers. "And Maury."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Your mouth ruins you." 

_Liar_ , Castiel thinks when Crowley catches his bottom lip between his teeth. Crowley yanks him forward with a sound Castiel knows he should disapprove of. But the growl only makes Castiel more aware of his cock grinding, insistent, against Crowley's body.

Castiel parts his mouth wider. His hands slide back down Crowley's body. Cupping his thighs. Opening them. Groping his backside. Fingers up the split line. Thumb, a stroked presence. Curled to scrape, just a tickle of pressure on the crown.

Crowley snarls against his lips. He wrenches a hand around Castiel's cock and squeezes. Dry and uncomfortable, but it's contact. Castiel needs the contact. He hisses and tips his head back. His mortal eyes swim, lust and fever-heat. Castiel bends his thumb, teasing the tip past that ring of muscle. Tight, soft heat-

Crowley's eyes are murderous, somehow cold and hot at once. Castiel is patient, faced with this renewed fury. He lies still, head tilted in question, and lets the demon's glare comb down his body. 

Castiel rocks his hips forward, testing him. His vessel's shaft is a beautiful thing, red and stiff, bobbing between them. It stands over a bed of dark curls, an early drop of wetness at the tip. Human bodies are art. Castiel sucks his lip into his mouth.

"Look at you," Crowley murmurs. His thumb teases at the slit of Castiel's cock. Scrapes over the hole, swiping out the wet of his precum. A tight sound chokes in the back of Castiel's throat. His thighs clench, a shivered jump of his waist.

"Got lube in this dump?" Crowley asks.

Castiel nods at the nightstand. As Crowley rolls to inspect, Castiel stretches under his pillow. His hands find the stone.

Crowley stops immediately, a smile slanted over his shoulder. "Is this your game, Castiel? Can't get what you want without Daddy's help?"

"I want to pleasure you," Castiel says.

Crowley's brow furrows. "What? ...Why?"

Castiel tilts his head again. "Why not?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Not to give your stupid head ideas. But you have a tablet that can _apparently_ coerce the King of Hell to do your bidding. And your master plan is to use it to fuck me?"

Castiel shrugs.

Crowley sighs. "Fine. You get the lube." He returns to the bed and flops on his stomach.

For the first time, Castiel sees it. The circular scar in the center of Crowley's back. Castiel's pleasure-warm body goes cold.

At the time, he could not see the blood. Too many garments; Crowley always wears too many garments. The dagger cut through them - coat, suit jacket, shirt. Buried itself deep in his vessel's flesh. Was the soul inside still alive, Castiel wonders? Did he drive the imprisoned thing to its final resting place?

"Remind me why I'm not doing the fucking?" Crowley props his cheek on a balled fist. "Are you going to gawk at me all night?"

"I-"

"Get on with it, Cas." Crowley drops his chin against folded arms with a huff. It isn't like Crowley to put aside revenge. Castiel supposes his rage will show itself some other night.

With unsteady hands, Castiel eases Crowley's thighs apart. He tries to force himself not to stare at the wound. "Can't you heal it?" he asks, to cover his unease.

"I did tell you I was nearly popped like a balloon earlier? The Darkness? Your damn Squirrel, making a mess of things again?" Crowley glares over his shoulder. "Other priorities, sweetheart. Keep up."

"I hate you," Castiel mutters.

Crowley scoffs. "Yeah, sure." He gives his waist a testy little rock. "Go on, Cassie. Don't waste the king's time."

Castiel itches for the blade stowed in the trench coat on his desk.

But as soon as the thought flashes through his mind, he looks at the scab on Crowley's back. They're in the warehouse again, Castiel lost to his insatiable blood lust. He punches Crowley. Drives him to the ground.

If Castiel had been one second faster; if Crowley had not seeped out in time...

If the spell wasn't broken in time to save Dean...

If Castiel could have spared Hannah's life...

Castiel lifts Crowley's waist and urges his thighs apart. With hands braced on the tablet, he lowers his head and curls his lips between Crowley's spread ass. Crowley grunts his surprise, a twitch of his hips. Castiel's tongue dips out, a testing swipe across the puckered hole.

"Are you using the bloody tablet to _rim_ me?"

Castiel doesn't miss the gravel scratch to his voice. He presses his tongue out further, easing into him. He feels the tightness of Crowley's vessel, a slim ring he coaxes with slow flicks Out and in, circling, loosening. 

Castiel keeps one hand on the tablet. His other comes up to his lips, wet with a succession of licks. As Castiel's mouth returns to its task, his saliva-damp hand eases around Crowley's cock. It's hard and hot to the touch. Castiel nudges his thumb into the head.

Crowley grunts from up the bed. "Damn it, Cas," he grumbles. It's a soft curse by his flowering standards. Castiel is getting somewhere.

Castiel circles his lips. He exhales, letting Crowley feel the warmth of his breath. The only negative to this position is the inability to see the response he receives. But he does feel Crowley's waist stutter, his erection bobbing heavy into Castiel's hand. Castiel slips his tongue out again. The muscles give easier this time, welcoming him with a wet sound. Castiel curls his tongue, drags the tip along the inside of him. Soft. Hot. A contrast to Crowley's cock, rigid in his fist.

He hears Crowley's muted grunt above him. Feels the dip of his waist, first down into Castiel's hand. Then up, less perceptible, towards Castiel's lips.

"I should telegram upstairs," Crowley croons. "Let the family know how far the great Castiel has fallen. Heh. A wayward angel, kissing the King of Hell's ass."

Crowley wants to humiliate Castiel. But Castiel does not see this act the same way. He does not feel demeaned, and he cares little about Heaven's opinions anymore. Right now, he feels in control. More so than he's felt in years. Castiel lost himself in madness during the hunt for Purgatory. His spell of amnesia. Sam Winchester's pain. Naomi's control. Humanity. Poisoned grace. Rowena's spell. Castiel's life rarely feels like his own anymore.

He pushes Crowley's waist down without warning. Sends him grinding into the bed sheets, hands planted on his ass. Castiel spreads him wide. A hissed, "What the-"  strangling off when Castiel delves in. Tongue swirling, buried deep. His thumbs scratch lines into Crowley's thighs.

"If you're going to...fuck me, just...damn it!" Castiel thrusts in. Crowley's hips jerk. Castiel feels his balls squeeze. He wets a thumb to fit between Crowley's thighs, stroking into them. Wet stripes of saliva. Crowley curses again, but at a far lower volume.

Castiel rests his free hand on the demon tablet. "Will you orgasm like this, Crowley?" he asks.

"Are you serious?" Castiel does not miss the soft tremor in Crowley's voice. "Castiel-"

"Please answer me." The words are sighed, affected boredom. He lowers his head, his tongue curled around Crowley's balls. He feels them clench against his lips. Castiel hums his approval and sucks one into his mouth. He plays with it, rolling it on his tongue as Crowley shudders. Sensitive things, these mortal bodies.

Castiel scratches nails down the face of the tablet. Crowley shakes on his hands and knees, a weak protest knotted in his throat. "Crowley-"

"Yes, damn it," hissed. "Yes, I will."

Castiel smiles and flattens his hands on Crowley's thighs again. He presses, urging Crowley to spread again. His hole is pink and wet. Castiel curls his lips and blows. Fascinating, how a puff of breath makes these muscles flutter. The crown clenches and shivers; Crowley mutters more curses. A few beads of sweat emerge on his back, slipping across the scar between his shoulder blades.

Castiel thrusts his tongue in. He hears the rustle of Crowley clenching bed sheets as his body bows into the mattress. He purrs, and Crowley's grumbles hitch in his throat. Castiel moves his hand between Crowley's legs. He strokes a thumb over the balls left wet by his mouth. 

"Fuck!" answers the touch, hips rising back towards Castiel's mouth. Castiel fastens himself tighter, tongue pressed deep. Stroking inside, turning and curling. Prodding in and out. A silk caress, wet and hot.

Crowley makes an un-Crowley sound, incoherent whispers into the bed sheets. Castiel feels him thrust forward, cock filling his hand. He offers appreciation with a squeeze. 

Castiel moves his tongue faster, coaxing the twitching muscles. A shiver builds around his tongue. When Crowley does manage to speak, it is a failure of Castiel's name. A strangled, "Cas-ngh." Yes and no. A fitting summary of their history.

Castiel coaxes a thumb up the underside of his cock, flicking as he fists the head. The succession leaves Crowley's legs shuddering and his arms struggling to hold steady. His body clenches around Castiel's tongue. Castiel hums and teases the tip as deep as his physical body will allow.

Crowley's waist spasms forward. "Son of a-" a groan, and wetness on Castiel's hand. Muscles wring tight around Castiel's tongue. A pretty tremor against Castiel's curled lips. Castiel chuckles. He eases his tongue a few times inside, tasting the orgasm shuddering through Crowley's body. 

"God...damn it, Castiel," mumbled into folded arms.

"Blasphemy," Castiel sighs. A strange thing to mutter with his cheek against the skin of the King of Hell.

Crowley slurs, "Fuck off" as he slides himself free. He flops on his stomach, arms folded under his cheek. A heavy breath lifts his body with a shiver.

Crowley smirks over his shoulder. "I think I ruined your sheets."

Castiel snaps his fingers. Crowley shifts, testing a theory. His confusion becomes irritation when he finds the blankets dry and unstained. "Fine," he mutters. He huffs against his crossed arms. "Is that all?"

Castiel stretches beside him, also on his stomach. He tucks the tablet beneath his pillow, and his hands follow, on top of it. He mirrors Crowley's pose, lying with his face down. "No," he says.

Crowley lifts his head, puzzled. When Castiel does not add anything else, Crowley sighs and drops his cheek on his folded arms again. "Hm." He waits.

Castiel still does not speak. They lie side-by-side, staring at each other. Not sleeping. Not fighting. Just being, for once.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) :)


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